GOT : Chapter 93

( Oberyn POV )

The Black cells were not the most comfortable place. As a matter of fact, they were logically made to be uncomfortable.

However, Oberyn had travelled to many places before, in Westeros or Essos, and truthfully, there were worse places to spend the night. At least, here, he didn't have to share the wooden bench that served as his bed, and there was enough hay around to make a decent pillow. And besides, the neighbors weren't very noisy, and he didn't have to share his cell with any of the city's common criminals or bandits.

The Tyrells had everything perfectly planned out. They'd managed to get a dozen fake witnesses from gods knew where, and Oberyn didn't even bother forming a coherent defence. He instead asked for trial by battle, and Tywin Lannister was forced to agree.

Then, if all went well, Oberyn would finally have his vengeance at hand when Tywin would name Gregor Clegane as his champion. Even if Tywin wasn't likely to risk his precious pet, the Tyrells would do what is necessary to force that choice. From then on, the fate of the mountain that rides would be sealed from the moment Oberyn cut him with his blade.

Oberyn heard a few steps, no doubt the guards were going to serve him some food. Lunch or dinner? It was hard to keep track of time in such a dark place.

He straightened up and looked at the door. It creaked open, revealing a man with a torch.

Then, the door creaked closed and the man approached.

It didn't take long for Oberyn to recognize who he was, the scar overlooking his right eye was a good indication.

Without a word, Quentyn approached with the torch, and put it on one of the few pillars inside the cell, illuminating his view just a little, letting Oberyn make out his wavy black hair, which had grown a little longer than usual. He just stood there motionless, arms crossed and furrowed brow.

"I figured you want some explanations?" Oberyn finally broke the eerie silence.

"I don't really need any." Quentyn continued to stand tall, judging him.

"How did you figure it out?" Oberyn then asked in turn.

"I knew the Tyrells were trying to get rid of Joffrey," Quentyn said simply. "I didn't think you were stupid enough to actually go to the Queen of Thorns and offer yourself to her to take the fall."

"If I didn't, who would they accuse?"

"Baelish?" Quentyn scoffed. "The man has grown too powerful for the Tyrells' liking. Lord Paramount of the Vale and Riverlands, likely stole away the last Stark of the capital…"

Oberyn's lips opened to say something, but he immediately closed them. Indeed, the Tyrells had proposed that Baelish would take the fall for this. However, Oberyn wouldn't be sure that that man wouldn't be able to defend his way out of it or find a way to leave the capital and this be judged and condemned without him being present. No, Baelish was too slippery. He, on the other hand, was the perfect fit.

Quentyn crouched down to his level, taking a seat on another wooden bench attached to a wall by two aging chains.

"Damn it, uncle." He whispered to him. "I had everything ready for Baelish to take the blame. Two bodies neatly lined up on the beach…"

"It was you…" Oberyn's eyes widened.

"Yes, it was me."

"You talked with Baelish?"

"No, I'm not a fool. He's been dealt with."

"Then you see where the plan fails. If he cannot be put on trial, then I cannot get the Mountain, nephew."

Quentyn's face darkened slightly, and not because of the dim light of the torch moving away.

"I had hoped that it wouldn't be necessary for us to be prisoners in the capital in order for you to get said vengeance," Quentyn told him. "The Tyrells could've just as well called a trial in absence, and you could've just as well proposed yourself as champion if you wished. After all, usually, the accused who run away are not there to ask for trial by battle."

"There would have been time for Baelish to be caught…"

"The Tyrells would need an expedited trial so that the lull in their situation does not last. It would have been faster, and you wouldn't have put all of us in danger!"

"You're not in danger." Oberyn scoffed. "You're still free."

"Yes, we've been forbidden to leave the Red Keep without a solid escort until your trial is over, how kind of them." Quentyn's frown deepened. "All of that could have been avoided if you just told me what you were going to do."

"Told you?" Oberyn couldn't believe it. "You're the one hiding everything from me."

"Because I don't trust you." Quentyn shook his head.

"You trust my daughter."

"I do."

"And not me?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Too stubborn. Too prone to opening your mouth."

"Is that why you didn't tell me about Lorch?" Oberyn suddenly stood up with rage in his eyes. "Because I'm too stubborn?"

"Sit down, uncle."

Quentyn's eyes met his. Oberyn stood defiant, but his nephew's unflinching gaze forced him to back down.

"I didn't tell you about what I was going to do with Lorch because I wasn't sure it was going to succeed until about five days before it happened." Quentyn sighed. "Besides, it isn't just your right to vengeance. Rhaenys and Aegon were my cousins, and Elia was my aunt. I had every right to slaughter that pig-faced animal as you did."

Oberyn's anger calmed down slightly.

"And you?" Quentyn asked. "Why didn't you say anything to me about your deal with the Queen of Thorns?"

"I…" Oberyn stammered. "I…didn't want you to be involved in this."

"Great job." Quentyn chuckled. "Wonderful job, actually. You know, we could've talked and gotten a plan that didn't involve all of the Dornish party being placed on house arrest."

"You've been confined to the Keep?" Oberyn asked again.

"If we wish to leave the Keep, we must do so with a solid goldcloak escort." Quentyn sighed. "As for the other Dornish, we've all been huddled in the same part of the Keep. I've ordered some to leave back for Dorne, meaning we're only half of our initial numbers.

This does still mean that our room, which was originally just Nym and me, has now expanded to include six people in all, for a room designed for two. 

Now, the wine that Ned brought with him is quite nice, but if you haven't noticed, a double bed for six people quickly becomes uncomfortable, be it the smell or the comfort, and the floor is a poor place to stay on. Not to mention that now it becomes even harder for me to execute my own plans."

"You had plans?" Oberyn asked, quickly regretting his question. "Baelish of course…"

His eyes suddenly wandered to his nephew and he asked.

"The Stark girl." He nodded to him, with a slight grin. "Was it…"

Quentyn didn't say anything. Instead, he just shrugged and pulled out a small piece of raven scroll, on which were written just a few words:

"Elinor got a nice nameday present, a husky from the mountains."

"What's a husky?" Oberyn asked.

"A sort of large dog," Quentyn said, putting back the raven scroll in his pocket. "A northern one."

"How did you…"

"We'll talk about this another time, uncle. A time when we will have some more privacy."

"A prison cell isn't enough?"

"Not with the place swarming with Lannisters and Tyrells." Quentyn frowned. "I had enough trouble snuffing out a torch this morning."

Quentyn pulled his vest back, revealing long scars on his forearm. It seemed someone had gripped them with long nails. But snuffing out a torch left burns, how did that matter?

"What have you done?" Oberyn asked.

"Cleaned a spider web, if you prefer." Was his only answer.

Oberyn looked at him in shock.

"Why did you…"

"He was too dangerous. He knew too much." Were Quentyn's only words.

"They'll find him." Oberyn's mouth was slightly agape, trying not to lash out where he would surely be heard. What was Quentyn doing? This was madness!

"No. Not for a while."

"His absence will be noted." Oberyn protested. Someone will know. Gods forbid, someone in this city will know very soon. You can't just get rid of the master of Whisperers like that."

"He has had long absences in the past, it won't go unnoticed if we leave before they start worrying."

"Leave?" Oberyn glanced at him. "We're not leaving till…"

"Till you have your vengeance." Quentyn sighed deeply. "I know, uncle. But your trial by battle is forthcoming."

"They've decided on who will represent the Crown?"

"Your Tyrell friends have done good work." Quentyn nodded. "Great work in fact. You'll face the Mountain that rides."

Oberyn started to smile.

"I hope you're happy." Quentyn sighed. "Because I don't fancy your chances."

"You disappoint me, nephew." Oberyn frowned. "I thought that you had me in higher esteem."

"After days of being underfed and without a single combat experience in the past weeks?" Quentyn shot back.

"I only need one cut to kill, believe me." He grinned.

"You don't intend on coming out of this alive?" Quentyn frowned again.

"I intend on coming alive and whole!" Oberyn raised his hands up. "But if it is my time to die, then I will gladly lay my life down to see that monster die a slow and agonising death. To play my part, and to lay my life for Dorne if necessary."

"I hope that when they bring your bones down to Dorne, they'll be buried next to mine when they inevitably come down too." Quentyn sighed.

"What are you talking about?" Oberyn asked. "Tywin would not harm a single hair on your head for fear of what would happen to Myrcella."

"And the Tyrells, uncle? What of the Tyrells?" Quentyn asked. "Because let me remind you uncle: if you lose, it means you are guilty. If you are guilty, it means Dorne might be guilty. If Dorne is guilty, then we are all hostages from the moment you die, and our conditions will be much worse than they are now.

And if one day I have a small accident, let's say I fall down some stairs and hit my head hard. Who would stand to benefit from this? Trystane is betrothed to Myrcella Lannister and Arianne to Willas Tyrell, uncle. 

If father decides to have Myrcella put to death for this, then the Tyrells have the royal road to see them acquiring Sunspear and King's Landing at the same time. Seven hells they might try for Casterly Rock through a cousin or relative, too! And if he doesn't?

Well, then, Myrcella is a good consort as any, or the Tyrells will just manoeuvre and scheme their way into placing Arianne and Willas' blood on the Sun Throne.

And Nymeria, what will become of her? Have you thought about your daughter, uncle? I know that if anyone attempted anything on her, I would burn down castles to bring vengeance to those who harmed her. 

She would do the same for me. Do you really think that the Tyrells or Lannisters would keep her alive? And if they did, how long before Nym would've also asked for a trial by battle?"

Oberyn felt his stomach turn into knots.

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